


That Pivotal Moment

by Ericine



Category: Scarecrow and Mrs. King
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Snow, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:04:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5505884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ericine/pseuds/Ericine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's centrifugal motion. It's perpetual bliss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Pivotal Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dizzy28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dizzy28/gifts).



> Early birthday present that is also prompted by the "dates at dawn" prompt running around and also the idea of being _between_ and how that doesn't necessarily have to mean uncomfortable. Also unapologetic glorification of American winters up north.
> 
> Title is from the Faith Hill song, in case you were thinking that this wasn't going to be overly saccharine fluff.

She’d be lying if she said that she’s used to him knocking on her window at all hours of the night, but she never expects it. She’s learned to expect him in her house at weird times of the day, but this still jolts her awake and she has to run through the checklist in her mind (burglar, someone sleepwalking, Dotty sneaking a gentleman caller down the stairs?).

It’s just Lee.

It’s freezing outside because it’s the day after Christmas, which means it’s her day to sleep in (to a nice late 8 o'clock, or else the boys are going to be up knocking things over for breakfast). She checks the time.

4:30.

She sighs and opens the window. “Merry Christmas, Lee,” she greets him when he crawls into her room, covering everything with a little bit of snow. She shivers and pulls the rest of her robe on—she’s only pulled half of it on, but she’s less conscious (or more conscious, maybe) about her body when she’s around him now.

“Get dressed! Grab your coat!”

“Is there a case?” she asks and yawns.

“Oh, sorry. Merry Christmas.” He’d stopped by yesterday and left her a present—not a scarf—a music box that was at once so different and so _Lee_ in a strange way that she hadn’t known what to say. She’d just hugged him for a long time.

She remembers the hug now and decides that she needs to do it again. He’s unzipped his coat, so she slips her arms underneath his jacket, which is going to be covered in melted snow in a few minutes and hugs him again. “Hi.”

He hugs her back, which is a little bit cold and a little bit wet, but she’s about to change, so it doesn’t matter. When he pulls away, he smiles down at her. “Hi.”

“I’ll just change in the bathroom,” she tells him. "Have a seat, um, have a seat anywhere." No need for him to spend more time outside than he has to.

A few minutes later, she joins him (he crawls out of her window, she walks out the front door). “Where are we going?”

“On a walk,” he tells her. “I saw something the other day. Thought you should see it too.” He holds out a thermos to her. “I know it’s early. I just—it couldn’t be any other time.”

There’s cider inside—and it’s the right temperature, too. He must have waited for it to cool down from scalding before he closed it. She sips gratefully and finds herself warmed from the toes up.

They don’t get into his car, just walk around the neighborhood. The sky’s pinking just a smidge, and they link arms while they walk (because it’s cold—or maybe not because it’s cold—they’re in a beautiful in-between place these days that she likes).

“Aw, Lee, you don’t owe me anything,” she says. She’d replaced his watch for Christmas and baked him enough to last for a good couple of weeks (she would have baked more, but he’s not so good at refrigerating things so that they _stay_ good). Nothing too out of the way, not that she wanted a present in return (she loved his, though).

There’s a little cul-de-sac near the back of her neighborhood, a dead-end where the houses weren’t quite built so close together. There’s an opening in the fence where there’s not too much snow, and he helps her through it to the ditch behind. There’s just enough of an open field there. She’s been here with her boys before but always during the day and always when they needed to do something with a lot of space—test a science experiment or throw around a ball (though she’s never quite been so good at catching—she tries when she’s the only one around). 

“Oh,” she says quietly. She’s never considered that it would be a good place to watch a sunrise. Also, she's only gone to bed about four hours ago. It took forever to clean up, and she's exhausted and running slower than usual.

Between her hands, the thermos is warm. She takes another sip.

“Remember the party?” he asks her.

“Which one?” she laughs. Between her high school friends in town, Dotty’s friends, the mother’s club, the baseball team, Phillip’s friends, Jamie’s friends, and their neighbor’s house party, she’s been in a flurry finding party gifts and making casseroles.

“The office party.”

“Oh, sure!” The Agency put on nice parties every year, relatively tame for the amount of work they did (she’s sure that Dotty’s friends’ parties are more wild, but perhaps that’s an unfair comparison) but still nice.

“You remember the closet?” 

She thinks for a moment. “Where we found Fred when he’d had too much eggnog?”

“No, the other closet.”

“The closet that’s a door?” Amanda asks. “Oh, the one with the mistletoe.”

“Yeah, about that—” 

She shrugs. “We’re partners. It was work. Makes sense.” And then she sees his face, open, warm. “Oh,” she says again, and hands him the thermos before he can ask for it, and he takes it in one hand and wraps her in his arms.

She smirks just a little bit. “Pretty sure this is a little too intense for mistletoe.”

Lee shrugs. “Why do you think I brought you out here?”

She leans her cheek into his chest and looks out over the field. The air is clear—not a cloud in the sky, but there’s snow on the ground. It’s snowed overnight, so the ground is unmarked except for their footprints. It sparkles just a little in the red light of the sun, which is just peeking over the horizon. “I haven’t seen a sunrise like this in so long. Thank you, Lee, I lo—”

In a weird turn of events, she stops herself before she knows what word is going to come next. She really must be tired.

“You don’t have to _say_ anything,” Lee says easily, in a tone that means he didn't hear (not that there was much of a chance).

She shakes her head a little against Lee’s chest. No, this is something he’s going to have to say first. She lifts her head from his chest and looks up at him. He has his arms wrapped around her hips, and hers aren’t around his neck—they’re just barely touching his arms, but that feels more comfortable somehow, more right.

“You’re right,” she tells him, and kisses him.

It’s a dry kiss, but they hold it where it is like they’re trying to hold a moment—the snow sparkling around them, the warmth they share, and the sun turning more and more gold as the day begins.

When they do let it go, she lets her head drop to his chest, but they keep holding each other, silent, letting the golden light spread around them.


End file.
